Reawakened
by stitchpunk-5
Summary: It's been only a few weeks after the Fabrication Machine had been destroyed. The ones who gave their lives to this shall forever be remembered. However, another newcomer arrives, questioning, and comits another foul mistake... or is it a mistake?
1. Prologue

This is a fanfic based off of 9. Well, to be more exact, it's a sequel to the movie 9. After I saw the movie, I hated how most of the characters died. Yes, even 1. So I wanted them to come back. But how? Well, I managed to get that much thought out. I'm almost certain that my theory on how they come back will make NO sense at ALL, but a tiny shred of hope in me has faith that it will. So anyway, I've created a couple of OCs to go into the story, obviously. I'm going to post a link in my profile description leading to a picture of my main character once I've finished drawing her. Well, I've blabbered enough. If I forgot to mention something (which is very likely), I'm probably going to add it into another chapter. It's story time!

**Pairings:** Probably a couple that'll make you beat me with a bat…

**Disclaimer:** I do not own 9, or any of the characters that appeared in the '09 film. However, OCs that I have created belong to me.

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Reawakened

~Prologue~

Journal Entry 4: What day is it? I have no answer. Time has slipped past so quickly in this tiny little room, like sand collapsing through oblivious fingers. I only know that I have little time left. Precious moments that must be filled with progress! I have talked with the Scientist, the well-honored sir who created the Great Machine. The Machine that the Chancellor poisoned into betrayal. Because of him, I sit here, fearing for every second of my life as the bang of gunpowder explodes outside. Under the Scientist's careful guidance, I have created a small replica of the very device that he used to bring the Great Machine alive. It is tiny and frail, and I fear that after a few uses of it, it shall break and become merely a lost token of my aid to protect this world. Why create this? Because of the new idea that came to the Scientist's clever mind. He secretly contacted me and informed me of his plan to destroy the Machine and save all life on Earth. He was to create tiny rag dolls, using the device that I have duplicated to bring them to life. At first, this sounded like utter blasphemy to me. A daft, useless idea. But it was our only hope, if there was still hope left. I decided to follow him in his idea. However, instead of sending them out into the battlefield a day or two after they were created, I decided otherwise. Perhaps my dolls will go deep in slumber, only to wake up when they shall be needed the most. Yes, of course! I have already decided the name of my first creation. She shall be called '18'. Why this number? When the Great Machine is defeated (yes, I have confidence that the Machine will be destroyed), the terrible gases that have stained the atmosphere of our planet shall clear. Soon, rain should follow. After the 18th rainfall, 18 shall awaken and see the world anew. That is why.

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"18! Release that at once!" a feminine voice cried, her voice sharp with urgency. A small little figure sitting in an empty corner dropped the sharp splinter of wood and an elastic piece of string, looking up with a startled, guilty expression.

"S-so Sorry," the tiny stitchpunk apologized, looking down at the two small objects before her. These things seemed so interesting, why shouldn't she play with them? The doll looked upwards at the tall woman who had resumed her work, stitching something.

"What are you working on?" 18 asked as she stepped closer to the woman, who seemed colossal sitting in her mammoth chair. Helena Bourne, that was the woman's name. The name of her creator.

The stitchpunk skittered over to a contraption used to get onto the top of the woman's desk. It was mainly a pulley, operated by a large pebble that could be pulled off the table. 18 shut her optics as she felt the familiar, sickening feeling of being whisked up into the air. Suddenly, the motion stopped. Before she had even opened her optics, she reached for the edge of the desk to hoist herself up as she had done many times before.

Once on top of the desk, 18 skipped over to where Helena's hands busily worked on something. She adored how the woman's fingers weaved in and out as though they were dancing as they guided a needle through cloth. From a distance, it looked as though Helena was stitching rags of brown material together. As she approached closer, she saw that a figure of herself was slowly forming from the ragged, brown cloth. It seemed a little broader though, like a male. The thought of another one like her to keep her company during those lonesome nights when Helena was sound asleep overjoyed 18.

"What is that?" she inquired in a whisper, too excited to speak properly. Helena looked over at 18 with a small smile. "A friend," the woman answered, presenting the almost-finished doll to 18. The female stitchpunk ran a hand down the doll's limp hand that would soon be full of life like she was.

"Thank you," 18 murmured, staring at the doll's blank face. She didn't know whom she was talking to.

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"Hurry, 18!" Helena cried. The stitchpunk scrambled over to the woman's hand, her optics wide with confusion and fear. She stepped onto Helena's flat palm, and immediately she was whisked up onto the desk. 13, named after the age of Helena's son before he had died, was already sitting on the edge of the table, tapping his metallic fingers together nervously. "Eh-Eighteen?" the male stitchpunk asked, glancing over at the other. "What's… what's going on?"

"There is no time to explain!" 18 looked up at Helena with surprise. The human suddenly seemed so aged and tired, as though she had spent too many hours awake. "Please! Lie down!" Both stitchpunks obeyed.

"What's happening?" 18 asked, watching as Helena prepared some sort of… thing.

"Do not fret. Leave that to me. I'm just putting you to sleep for a while. You'll wake up later," Helena explained in a thin voice, pausing from her rushed work to give 18 an affectionate stroke on her face.

"For how long?"

"Long enough."

"Will you be there when I wake up?"

Helena paused, which caused 18 to worry. She looked over at 13, who looked back with the same concerned expression.

"Close your optics, little ones," the woman said, changing the subject. "This won't hurt at all. Good night."

Helena's hand passed over 18, and suddenly the stitchpunk drifted off into gradual blackness. Not like the pitch black that suddenly took over, like that time when she had accidentally fallen off the desk. It was peaceful and… nice.

With a sigh, Helena watched as both of them slept like tired little babies. She brushed a few frizzed strands of hair away from her face, and crossed the room towards a notepad. She quickly ripped off a page, but one of the corners was torn off in her haste. She paused to look at the ruined page, but dismissed it and brought the paper over to her desk. She wrote in a corner of the tabletop, as to not invade the space in which the two dolls were sleeping in. One of her pale, trembling fingers reached for a pen. The click of the inked utensil sounded in the small room. The scrawling of writing followed.

Helena paused, looking over at the two stitchpunks that she loved so dearly. She had to bury them somewhere safe. Some place where they wouldn't be disturbed while they slept. Some place where they would wake up and live a life that Helena herself would not be able to live.


	2. Chapter 1

Hurray! The first chapter is up! NOW we're making some progress!

Again, I do NOT own any characters from the film 9.

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~Chapter One~

It seemed impossible how a planet full of life and activity and joy would suddenly turn into a silent grave. Where there was joy of laughing children there now was cold wind and broken bodies sprawled over the ground, bones and rotting flesh. Where there was love, there was haunting fear. Where there were tears of joy, there were now tears of despair. A person transported here would've been certain that this was the end of the world. And perhaps it was. Except in one little area, where the light rains had fed a tiny seed, and a single, isolated birch tree grew. It was small and leafless, but it was there, defying the black mist of death that shrouded it in the murky depths.

As rain pattered against the skinny tree's thin branches, a howling stream of wind ran through the birch tree, creating an eerie rattling noise that chattered in the air over the drum of rain and whisk of wind. Suddenly, as though the rattle had been an awakening spell, a dark bronze hand burst out of the dirt from a mound that had sat in front of the solemn tree. The hand loomed in that position for a moment, palms facing forward and fingers outstretched as though the hand were trying to touch the distant sky. Then it smacked against the soaked ground, clawing at the mushy dirt until another bronze hand broke through the surface of the mud. The ground around the hands shrugged, like a chick trying desperately to break out of its white-shelled prison. Suddenly, after one last push upwards, the surface gave away and a figure caked with mud crawled out of the rigid hole in the ground. It gasped, struggling to stand and trying to brush mud off of its arm at the same time.

"Heh-Helena?" the figure called out, holding her head and trying to steady her blurred, spinning vision. There was no answer. 18 looked around, unsure of what happened. She just remembered darkness. Quiet, peaceful darkness. Then opening her optics, and feeling the sudden urge to get out. To rise up and look for everyone. But no one was there. A feeling of loneliness and fear slowly crept up her burlap throat.

Suddenly, the ground beneath her gave a sort of… silent hiccup. Startled, the stitchpunk looked down, stepping away from the twitching ground. She paused to wipe rainwater off of her optics. She didn't notice the fact that the rain had washed the gunk off her cloth skin. Her attention was focused on the moving ground. All of a sudden, a cough sounded from a silhouette that rose from the ground. Despite the time that had passed, 18 immediately recognized this silhouette.

"13!" she cried, reaching down to help the male stitchpunk out of the ground when his foot was caught in the rather sticky mud.

Once out on the surface, he looked over at 18 with a confused look. "18?" he said in a voice that had been softened by sleep. He rubbed his optics clean with the side of his metallic thumb, and then looked back at the female stitchpunk.

"Yes, yes! It's me!" 18 said, patting her friend gently on his arm. "Now you're awake! Let's go find Helena! Maybe she'll tell us why we were in the ground! And where's her tiny laboratory?" Both of them suddenly looked around, as though expecting to see their creator standing there, smiling, in front of a sunlit building they had known as their home. But instead, there were broken-down houses and the same dull, gray hue everywhere.

18 felt a tug at her arm. "Are we even in the same place?" 13 asked, his optics surveying the scene, his mouth turning down into a worried frown.

"I don't think so. But then wh-". The stitchpunk suddenly halted her sentence when something crunched underfoot. It was a small piece of stained glass. And though it had been stepped on numerous times, the pattern of the colored glass remained in correct order- a rose.

18 bent over to pick up a pink piece from the ruined picture. She turned the piece over, watching the glass glimmer as it was coated with rainwater. "This was a piece in Helena's glass collection," she said, certain of her words. Back when she was still in the woman's lab, as painful as it was trying to remember in this gloomy place, she recalled the memory of staring at the beautiful pieces of stained glass day after day. She had watched light reflecting off their sparkling surface, listened to the melodic sounds as she tapped her bronze fingers against them.

However, 18's peaceful daydreams were interrupted by 13's outburst, "Look! There's another piece!" He was pointing to a light green object in the distance, a large walking distance (for a stitchpunk, that is) away. 18 looked down at the piece of glass in her metallic hands. "You think it's a trail?"

"What else would it be? Helena wouldn't leave her treasures out here to be ruined for nothing!" 13 said, rushing towards the crumpled, light green mess of glass. Slowly, they scouted out the other pieces. Each one was crushed and smashed, no longer as beautiful as they had been before.

Just as 18 was beginning to think that the trail led to no where, a tall, familiar building loomed out in front of her. It was still one piece, but one corner of building had been blown away. She looked nervously at 13, who looked at their old, broken home with a saddened look in his wide optics. The old building had brought about old memories that had been washed away by the waves of time. Sweet memories that had now turned bitter in this haunted place. 18 squeezed her optics shut and suddenly the image of Helena appeared, smiling down at them with that exhausted… and possibly sad… look on her face.

"Close your optics little ones… this won't hurt at all. Good night..."

Something tugged lightly on her arm. The face of Helena shattered, like each piece of glass in the trail they had found. 18 opened her eyes and looked over at 13.

"We should go in," he said, nodding towards the building. 18 looked uncertainly at the building, scared of what she might find or remember in there. Finally, she nodded. "Okay."

Slowly, her legs carried her forward. She took a peep over her shoulder to see if 13 was following. He was, brushing his metallic hands nervously together. Their optics met, and 13 nodded.

"Let's go," he said, trying to sound brave. 18 looked back at the building, finding it strange that they were frightened to go into the very place they had once considered a safe haven and home. Well, a lot of things have changed. 18 took in a shaky breath and climbed up a pile of rubble that lay conveniently against a large gap in the wall. Like a mountain goat, the two stitchpunks hopped along the rough texture of the rubble, their feet mechanically slowing when they reached the gap.

18 paused, crouched against the grainy wall. She counted slowly to three, and then leaped smoothly into the building. Her metallic feet gave a small click as they hit the wooden floor, and then all was silent. She heard 13 land beside her, feeling a bit more confident. Her optics slowly began to become accustomed to the smothering darkness. Beams of light occasionally lit up small portions of the murky room, little pieces of dust dancing in the beams.

The stitchpunks slowly explored the room, keeping close to each other and only wandering a few steps away before returning. Yet they could find no signs of Helena. Where had she gone? How long had they been asleep? 18's gaze wandered away from the darkness, over to one of the light beams as her memories began to engulf her once more. She had almost convinced herself that the small room was back to the way it was before when suddenly 13's whisper broke her desperate fantasies.

"Look! Over there!" he said, rushing forward. 18 flinched, shaking her head to clear her thoughts and then followed. She stopped beside 13 and looked up. A strong pain rippled through her as she saw the limp string and the rusted gear of the pulley that she used to operate when… well, she didn't want to think about that anymore.

"Should we… go up?" the female stitchpunk asked, slowly gripping the dirty string and tugging it to see if it still was sturdy. The gear croaked, but did not give away.

She turned to offer the string to 13, but to her surprise he only shook his head. "No, you go up," he confirmed, pushing 18's hands away. "I'll stay down here incase you need to come back down and the pulley doesn't work. Don't take long, okay?"

The whirling sound of string brushing against the metal gear no longer sounded nice and familiar. It groaned and squeaked loudly, reminding her of how time had wasted everything. She looked down to check on 13, but suddenly heard a snapping sound. Jerking her head up, 18 spotted a large gap in the string where most of the threads that braided together to create the string had snapped. Only a few strands held, and she knew that they weren't going to be like that forever. Below, 13 cried something that 18, in her panicked state, could not here. Without thinking, she launched herself away from the pulley string just as it gave away and grabbed the edge of the dusty desk.

A gasp escaped her mouth as she felt her legs dangling beneath her, knowing that a fatal distance separated her from safe ground. She let out a quiet groan as she slowly hoisted herself onto the desk, pausing on her hands and knees as she tried to recover from the shock.

18 forced herself up onto her feet, telling herself that she shouldn't give up just because of a silly accident. It was her fault for using the pulley when it clearly looked dangerous.

The stitchpunk began wandering around the vast surface of the tabletop like a dazed person in the desert. She thought she knew where she was going; yet she hadn't realized how dark it was until she ran headlong into something soft. 18 gave a yelp and rubbed her face, looking up at whatever she had hit. It was a tall, four-legged figure that seemed to be in a pose that only an active creature could do. Yet closer examination revealed that the burlap creature was held up by a stand and metallic risings. Looking past the still beast, 18 spied a crumpled piece of paper with writing on it. Realization excited her as she saw that it was Helena's handwriting. Maybe this would tell her where the creator was.

She lifted up the paper, noticing how one of the corners on the sheet was ripped off. 18 dismissed it and immediately began reading the text.

Dearest 18 and 13,

If you are reading this, then I am very glad. That means you are on the right track. I had no time to bring the possessions that are here with you on that fateful night. Right now, I believe that you must be looking for me. And I am afraid that your search is in vain. Even I do not know where I will lie at the moment you are reading this, and I strongly advise you to not go searching for me any longer to save you from the grief. I wish to only be a happy memory, and nothing more. But take no more notice of me. I wanted you to come back here to take the things I have left here for you. They will help you greatly in time of need.

Coming here, you have probably already met Agro. He is the large beast that you have most likely encountered on the way to this note. Do you remember what creature he represents? I told you before, and I have showed you the pictures from books. It has been long, but do you still remember what a horse is? That is what Agro is. A fine, loyal steed for you and a grand friend to stand by your side. However, when I gave life to him like I did for you, he did not awaken immediately. I do not know why, but I am sure that he will eventually.

Also, if you haven't noticed already, there is a small bow next to Agro's stand. And a few small wooden arrows with it. I had noticed that you seemed to be interested in devices similar to it, and I am sure that they will aid you greatly.

I give you both my love and luck, and hope dearly that they will guide you to better fortune.

18 sadly folded the letter, not wanting to see the text ever again. Yet her thoughts wondered to the beast that Helena was talking about. Agro. The horse. Yes, the word did seem familiar. She remembered the colorful pictures of the graceful creatures. From her last glance at Agro before she had read the letter, she began thinking that his mane looked like the manes on the real horses, all silky and flowing. She wondered what material Helena had made them out of.

And then her thoughts settled onto the bow and arrows. That thought excited her, and she glanced over at the objects on the ground. There lay a grayish green bow, pointed near the edges where the string on the bow was tied. Beside it, lay a few brown, pointed bows with tiny feather fluffs attached onto them.

The female stitchpunk took a step towards the marvelous items, but suddenly her optics were taken away from the bow and arrows, and alarm grew inside of her. Her gaze focused on Agro's stand.

It was empty.

_I look for some hope in every face there's a vacant stare._

_The shadows come, but no one seems to care_

_The darkness floods every light that could promise change_

_She passed sound asleep when the blood is stain_

_The blood is pain_

_Somewhere I know, I'm not all alone_

_With this fated breath I hold_

_My lungs want to explode._

_This can't be the real world now_

_I don't believe it when I can't see the truth_

_Welcome to the real world now_

_The old are carried in now just to poison youth_

_Am I the only one who thinks it's tragic?_

'_Cause I know_

_This can't be the real world now._

_Oh no oh_

_Oh no oh_

~Real World by The All American Rejects


End file.
